A Tale from the Autumn Court
by AshryverEyes
Summary: Little Lucien finds an unlikely friend. His brothers disapprove. "That was the first time his brothers executed something he loved in front of him." (One shot: Young!Lucien) (Autumn Court from ACOTAR)


_Tumblr prompt (from Cat): when Lucien was little, he found an injured baby fox in the forest and he decided to raise it himself except he knew that his brothers would kill it if they found out so once Lucien was sneaking around with it and someone called for him and he hid the fox in his shirt. When the fox was grown up it was his pet and stuff and it went everywhere with him and everyone was like whatever it's his #aesthetic. He dug a grave himself for it when it died of old age._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own A Court of Thorns and Roses. Also, I'm terribly sorry I didn't let the fox die of old age. ALSO, Lucien is one of my favorite fictional characters and I cried writing this._

VvV

Blood trickled like an insistent stream down his lips as Lucien ran through the patch, tripping over pumpkin vines and his own two feet. The vicious cries were now behind him, but gaining volume with every quickening second as his brothers drew closer to him. A hunt was what it was. Predators seeking out the weak for their own pleasure and amusement. It was only three of them tonight, seeing as the eldest couldn't be bothered and the other was already nursing his own bloodied nose and broken limbs, but that did little to soothe the pounding in Lucien's ribs.

"Come back here and face us!"

Perhaps there was once a time when the brothers of the Autumn Court trusted one another with the fragile skin of their necks, or the understanding glances shared high up in an apple tree. But childhood is a faux, a test to sort out the ignorant from the gifted, a time of deceit, and the Cauldron knew Lucien had learned that long ago. His brothers had a hand in teaching him. His father, too.

If it weren't for his mother, the High Lady of Autumn, who constantly snuck into his chambers at night to whisper words of reassurance and stroke his head before sleep took him, he didn't know what type of monster he'd of become. He liked to imagine he'd never share such similarities with his brothers.

"Filthy coward," one snickered loudly, barely sounding out of breath.

Crows―that's what they were. Swooping down across the darkening field in hopes of plucking the life from his decaying body. They would leave him to rot sooner than give up a chase. He had to be quick about his decision.

Discarding his torn jacket, he made certain enough blood from his nose had stained the fabric before tossing it ahead of his path and veering left, over the steep incline of wet soil and mildew. Hopefully the harsh scent would cover up his own. The blood on the jacket was only an exaggerated precaution.

Up ahead he could just barely make out a breach in the forest, a slit against the deepening orange, red and yellow of the leaves. It would be night soon enough, and maybe then he could make it back to the manor before his siblings realized he had left the field.

Lucien stopped breathing as he saw three shadows emerge from a patch of moonlight, sprinting at a breakneck speed. He quickly threw himself behind a trunk and crouched low, waiting for them to pass.

Just then, something hissed.

Lucien cursed lowly, falling backwards into the dirt as he frantically searched for the telltale sign of auburn hair or glinting fangs.

But he saw nothing, and soon realized even the constant pounding of footfalls had faded away into the background. His brothers must've taken the bait, leaving Lucien with a small window of opportunity to run like hell. And he would have, if not for that same hissing.

"Who's there?" He breathed.

Branches rustled in the wind and Lucien momentarily regretted the loss of his jacket until another shape drew life from the darkness and approached him cautiously.

It was an animal then. His heart ached with relief, however brief that may be.

The mewling ceased as he scooped it up in his arms, shaking slightly with the foreign weight. The baby fox―a kit as they were sometimes called―had a rugged tuft of vibrant mahogany hair that prickled Lucien's nose. Surprisingly enough the smell comforted him. It was strange mix between woodsmoke and cinnamon that reminded Lucien of his mother. He clutched the fox closer.

The kit was still against the young boy's chest, its bones taught. The low growl that slipped from between its slightly bared teeth was warning enough, but Lucien was still the son of a High Lord. He was cunning and malicious when needed be, and no snarling animal would frighten him. Especially not when Lucien could snarl back, like he very well just did. That seemed to do it.

"There. You don't scare me, and I won't scare you. Just try to relax, I promise not to harm you."

Wide, onyx eyes turned to him, staring at him with what could only be described as contemplation. The Autumn lordling narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. Then it hit him.

Beneath all that fur was the feigned expression of bravery he'd seen himself wearing since the day his siblings grew a lust for blood. And because it was so dark, Lucien had missed the full brunt of the fox's gaze, for midnight shadowed half it's face. But just from carrying the creature a step into the moonlight, Lucien noted what was wrong.

The fox had only one eye.

He gasped, not bothering to be quiet as he stared in horror at the mutilated face of the small, quivering thing in his arms. "What happened to you," he whispered faintly. The kit began to mewl again, and Lucien shushed him. He might not love the people reigning over this court, but he loved the nature and all of its inhabitance with a furious passion. Lucien knew he'd never be able to defeat his brothers, nor would they willingly give up their titles as heirs, and he'd already come to accept that. However, that didn't mean he'd abandon the court just for not taking up the throne. So he'd start his duties with this fox, by keeping it alive.

Later that night, when Lucien's lungs were cool again and candles adorned his bedroom chamber, he attempted to bathe his new pet.

"Shut up," he growled softly, gritting his teeth as he tried to desperately keep the fox in the water. It wriggled in his grasp, emitting strangled noises with every slosh of the tub. If they kept this up, someone would surely hear them.

"I swear, you're more trouble than you're worth," Lucien said.

It purred, he thought, mockingly.

The kit eventually grew limp, exhaustion veiling over its one eye. Lucien hastily rubbed the rest of the oils into its fur before pulling it out gently and wrapping it in a woolen cloth. His pet was so small the cloth nearly devoured him. Still, Lucien's equally small arms struggled with the new weight as he carried the kit over to his duvet.

Shorn wheat was now permitting the air, which meant dawn was soon to come. A light fissure erupted in the sky, bleeding crimson and indigo as the rising sun reached a claw up from below the mountains.

"Please," Lucien begged, "eat this."

The kit wrinkled it's shiny, black nose in disdain, eyeing the slice of pumpkin pie before him as if it were poisonous. Aside from the scarred face, its ribs were protruding slightly and one of its claws was missing a talon. A fighter, kind of like him. And Lucien had vowed to nurse him back to health.

It regarded the second offering, an apple wedge, with similar disinterest.

Lucien was growing frustrated with every passing minute.

"Fine, then! Starve yourself for all I care."

He pushed off the bed and stormed over towards his closet, looking for a new tunic to replace the ripped one he still wore. He spotted one made of emerald velvet and was about to reach for it, still seething over his pet's ignorance…when he heard his chamber doors slide open.

A figure appeared, willowy as it was, and glided over towards the bed. It reached down with intent to mar or cut, but was stopped by a sudden growl that ricocheted off the ceiling with enough force to shake a small mountain. It frighten Lucien more than he'd care to admit. "Cauldron boil and fry me," the stranger stuttered, backing away from the vicious fox.

Lucien rushed forward, throwing himself between the two.

"Don't you dare," he snarled at his brother, surprised to hear his own voice so strong.

His brother must've thought the same, for he simply stared at Lucien with familiar russet eyes. It took Lucien a moment to realize that his brother bore no weapons, nor were his fists curled for an attack. But if he didn't come to harm him, what did he want?

Holland was a curious thing, a wander, who spent his days chasing after females far older than his thirteen year old self and drinking burgundy colored wine (which Lucien had yet to develop a taste for). He was the third eldest, making him four years older than Lucien. He was also the only one who never truly bothered to partake in the daily beatings or taunts. Instead, he read in the great study or went to plant more seeds in the patch. Holland acted mature for his age, a trait which their mother adored, but he still had a malicious streak, one that appeared when it was least called for.

Which was why Lucien didn't put his guard down as he glared at Holland.

"Leave," he ground out.

Holland's gaze flickered towards the kit, his brows drawing together. "Lucien, what have you captured?"

Lucien crossed his arms, knuckles white. "He's not my prey. I didn't capture him, I saved him."

His brother's frown deepened. "You realize what the others will do once they find it here, don't you? Killing it now would be a mercy. Here, I have a knife―"

Faster than he had any right to be, Lucien grabbed his hand and twisted violently, making him drop the blade. "You will not touch him!"

"Shit, alright, alright, let me go," Holland breathed, pushing away roughly. The brothers froze as a servant passed by the corridor, heals clicking against the marble flooring. Once the maid rounded a corner, Holland sighed through his nose and slowly turned to face the fox.

Lucien watched intently as his brother knelt down before his pet, taking in the single eye and missing claw. "You've really done it this time, brother." He knew he had. He didn't need a reminder.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find a proper room to keep him in," Holland said as he hesitantly patted the kit's small head.

Lucien stopped breathing. "…what?"

Holland looked up then, and smiled sadly. "He can be our secret, but only if you share."

Lucien blinked. Then took in the image of his brother and his pet, seemingly content in one another's presence. A shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "I suppose that can work."

Holland's returning grin was, for once, beautiful with its sincerity.

As the hazy light filtered in through the drapes, Lucien and Holland remained perched on the intricate rug before his bed, where the kit resided, still not taking their bribes. "Why are you feeding him pumpkin pie?" Holland said.

Lucien shrugged, "It was the only thing I could find."

He felt rather than heard his brother's silent laugh, shoulders brushing against his own as he chuckled. It was foreign and nostalgic and it made Lucien's miserable heart ache bitterly. Holland leaned closer to Lucien, and Lucien's shoulders tensed. But then he felt his brothers hand in his, timid and light. The callouses on his fingers were like small stories of every battle waged between them, every fissure and misunderstanding and regret. Lucien held on tightly.

Then the brothers did something awful. They fell asleep.

And when they awoke the following hour, it was to bloodshed.

"Stop!" Lucien shrieked, sobbing hysterically as his eldest brother pummeled into Holland with the force of an executioner's axe. Two of his brothers held him back, forcing him to watch. "Stop, stop! Leave him alone, let him go!" His voice cracked, his shrieks tearing up his throat as tears blurred his vision.

"What did we tell you about keeping secrets, brother?" The eldest sneered into Holland's red face, spitting on him. A loud crack reverberated around them, and Holland let loose an agonized cry as his wrist was shattered. Lucien echoed him, no longer feeling the hands on his shoulders and elbows, but rather feeling his brother's pain through an invisible tether.

"And you," the eldest turned on Lucien, a sinister look spread across his crazed face. "You must learn to fight you own battles, coward." Suddenly his head was shoved to the side as a fist drove forward into Lucien's temple. Blood trickled, more screaming, more pleading, this time from Holland. The kit was nowhere to be seen.

"Bastard," Hollland snarled, lunging forward to drag their brother off Lucien. The next few moments would forever be imprinted into the youngest son of the Autumn Court's mind. Red splattered the walls, the rugs, the skin on his face even if it wasn't his own substance. Holland eventually went limp, his chest slowly rising and falling as the life was nearly beaten out of him. Lucien was numb, pleas still spilling forth, tears still staining his cheeks and mixing with the bruises.

It wasn't until the eldest left Holland on the floor and turned to grab something hidden in the shadows that Lucien truly felt sick. "No," he whimpered.

"This yours?" One of the brothers holding him back snickered.

The kit was shaking, terrified by just the mere sound of all their screaming.

"Please," Lucien moaned, feeling the world close in around him. His brother grinned, stretching his bloodied lips thin against his pale face. A knife appeared, and then…nothing. No more mewling, nor purring, nor life in that single, hopeful eye, the fox's head thudded to the floor, adding to the blood clotting against Lucien's rug, and rolled to a stop before him. Lucien dropped to his knees and vomited.

A swift kick to his chest made him collapse, and darkness devoured him whole. Holland awoke in the infirmary, alongside one of the other Autumn sons, one who'd been left out of the chaos due to his own wounds. The kit was missing, but the blood remained. He'd never even gotten the chance to name it. Dread filled his veins as he came to the understanding that if he couldn't keep a baby fox alive, he would certainly never be able to protect the court he loved.

That was the first time his brothers executed something he loved in front of him.


End file.
